


For My Next Trick, I'll Regret All of My Life Choices: a performance by Derek Hale and 80% of his eyebrows

by crossroadswrite



Series: Howls From Last Night [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Derek POV, Drunken Shenanigans, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Humor, M/M, Texts From Last Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>(978): I woke up missing my shoes and my left eyebrow. MY. EYEBROW.</b><br/>.<br/>“What’s wrong with my eyebrows?”</p><p>Kira gives him a sympathetic look, and climbs up to sit next to him, “You kind of… don’t have one.”</p><p>“I what!” he shouts, wincing at the volume of his own voice.</p><p>Kira pats him on the shoulder and shoves a piece of toast in his hand.</p><p>“It’s not that bad,” she tries to console him with a smile, then glances up at his left eyebrow and winces, “It could definitely be worse. It’s not all gone. Just. Half of it.”</p><p>Derek considers crying into his orange juice but decides that would be a waste and because his mother taught him how to be a good guest he opts to drink it instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For My Next Trick, I'll Regret All of My Life Choices: a performance by Derek Hale and 80% of his eyebrows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KuriKuri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKuri/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [В следующем трюке я пожалею о всех своих жизненных решениях...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366551) by [ElasticLove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticLove/pseuds/ElasticLove)



> Happy belated birthday!

Derek wakes up with his head pounding and his feet cold, which is weird because he’s a werewolf and werewolves just don’t get this type of headache and he sleeps in socks. Always.

It’s like a thing. A thing Stiles can’t stop complaining about, but Stiles likes to shoves his cold feet on Derek’s thighs so he doesn’t get an opinion.

He blinks up at the sky and that’s wrong too. He swears he had a ceiling in his apartment the last time he was there.

That was one of the Sheriff’s requirements when Derek had just started dating his son and had gone over for the first official meet-the-parents dinner.

It was mildly terrifying and it had ended with the Sheriff telling him to get a haircut and get a job and an actual house.

Derek had gotten a job and a house. He still hasn’t gotten a haircut though. Mostly because Erica likes to braid it and she threatened bodily harm if he cut it.

And before you ask, no he’s not afraid of one of his betas. He just has a healthy dose of respect for women that can probably find ten different ways to torment him in five seconds flat. He learned it from his sister. It’s a survival mechanism.

 His phone starts vibrating in his pocket and he fishes it out slowly, putting it to his ear.

“Where are you?” Stiles’ too loud voice demands, sounding a bit panicked, “I’ve been calling you for three hours!”

Derek squints down at what he’s sitting on and how far up he is and yup, he’s on someone’s rooftop.

“I’m on a rooftop. Why are you yelling?” he mumbles, wincing a little bit.

“On a rooftop?”

“On a rooftop.”

“But- on a rooftop?”

“Yes, Stiles, I’m on a rooftop.”

“On a-“

“Stiles,” he growls. His headache isn’t agreeing with Stiles’ antics at this moment.

“Okay, okay. Why are you on a rooftop?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe it’s because of the Batman thing.”

“What Batma-“

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Kira pokes her head over the edge of the rooftop and waves a bottle of orange juice and a container with toast at him.

“Is that Kira? Are you on her roof?”

“Are you laughing right now?” Derek huffs.

“No,” Stiles laughs.

“I hate you. I’m never letting you and Lydia mess with my liquor bottles ever again.”

“Lies and slander,” Stiles continues, “now sit tight sugarbutt, I’m coming to pick you up. And whatever you do don’t look at your eyebrows.”

“My eyebrows? What’s wrong with my eyebrows?”

There’s a beat of silence before Stiles starts wheezing with laughter on the other end.

“Stiles what’s wrong with my eyebrows!”

The call disconnects and Derek immediately turns to Kira, mildly panicked, “What’s wrong with my eyebrows?”

Kira gives him a sympathetic look, and climbs up to sit next to him, “You kind of… don’t have one.”

“I what!” he shouts, wincing at the volume of his own voice.

Kira pats him on the shoulder and shoves a piece of toast in his hand.

“It’s not that bad,” she tries to console him with a smile, then glances up at his left eyebrow and winces, “It could definitely be worse. It’s not all gone. Just. Half of it.”

Derek considers crying into his orange juice but decides that would be a waste and because his mother taught him how to be a good guest he opts to drink it instead.

“I don’t think I want to look,” he decides.

Maybe if he ignores it, it’ll go away. Yeah. Because that always works so well for him.

“Probably for the best, buddy.”

Derek sadly munches on his toast.

Kira knocks their shoulders together, “I can lent you a beanie to cover it up.”

“It’s July. In California,” he points out.

“Half of your left eyebrow is gone,” she counters.

“Point.”

She grins at him and this is why he likes Kira. She makes things not sound so bad.

“This is why you’re my favorite,” he tells her.

She pats him nicely on the shoulder, “I know. Erica threatened me once because of it.”

Derek’s eyebrows climb up. Well. His eyebrow and a half climb up. He has no idea what happened to ¼ of his eyebrows.

“She did?”

“Yes. I reminded her I have a katana and that she gets to be Stiles’ favorite.”

“I thought Lydia was Stiles’ favorite.”

“No, Lydia is Stiles’ best friend.”

“I thought Scott was Stiles’ best friend.”

“No, Scott is his brother.”

He frowns, “Ah. So what is Allison?”

“Stiles’ murder buddy.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Not really. You and Lydia will keep them from going on a rampage.”

Derek sips his orange juice and decides to worry about it later.

“Nice nail polish, by the way,” Kira comments, nodding towards his toenails that are painted a shimmery shade of black.

“Thanks.”

He shoves the rest of his toast in his mouth.

“What do you think happened to my shoes?”

Kira shrugs.

“I just know that you climbed up on the roof and crouched here for two hours. Every time I tried to make you come down, you’d just say you couldn’t because, and I quote,” Kira lowers her voice dramatically “’I am the night, I am justice, I must watch over the city.’ It was pretty cute,” she giggles.

Derek starts considering the merits of drowning himself in his orange juice.

“I’m going to _kill_ Stiles.”

Kira twists her nose, “The last time you said that you two ended up having sex on my TV. Literally _on it_. There were butt imprints. I only kept Scott from burning it because it’s bad for the environment.”

Drowning himself in orange juice is becoming a better option by the second.

“Please don’t have sex on my TV. Or any other part of my house. I like this house. It’s a nice house. Please stop defiling your boyfriend in it,” she pleads earnestly.

“I changed my mind. You’re no longer my favorite.”

“Erica is Stiles’ favorite and she wouldn’t let you two have sex at her house either.”

“Not if she couldn’t record it, she wouldn’t,” Derek says matter-of-factly. He’s getting really tired of having to tell Erica that it’s not okay to keep trying to bribe them into giving her a sex tape.

Kira blushes bright red all the way down to her neckline and stumbles down.

Derek throws out a hand and pulls her back to his side, reminding himself never to let Stiles and Kira walk alone down a street. They’d somehow find a way to get themselves run over. Probably by a baby stroller.

“You know what, I’m going to get you that beanie now.”

Derek sits there and eats another piece of toast, waiting patiently as his headache passes while Kira fetches his beanie.

By the time she comes back with a Batman beanie in hand and an innocent smile on her face, Derek’s headache is gone and he can hear Stiles’ Jeep coming from about three blocks over. He has no idea how that thing is still running after all these years, but he suspects black magic.

“Looks like you’re prince charming is here,” Kira tells him, nodding to Stiles speeding too fast on the curve leading to Kira’s street with his head practically out the window as he drives.

“If you call him that in front of him I’ll tell Scott about _the thing_.”

Kira gasps, “You swore you wouldn’t.”

He squints at her, “Try me, Yukimura.”

Kira starts giggling, probably because of his lack of eyebrow at the moment.

“I can’t take you seriously without as much eyebrow game. It’s like a whole part of your personality just disappeared.”

“Why are we friends again?”

“Because all your other friends are meaner than me.”

“True that,” he accepts easily.

“Derek!” Stiles shouts, parking his car half on the road half on the sidewalk in front of Kira’s house.

Derek passes her the container and the bottle and drops a kiss on her cheek, “Thanks for breakfast.”

Kira beams, “You’re welcome. Now go, be with your boyfriend, please don’t have sex on my property or I’ll call the Sheriff.”

Derek glares at her, “You wouldn’t.”

She shrugs with her sweet, sweet evil smile, “Try me, Hale.”

Derek glares harder and then summersaults out of her roof to make his point. If he’s losing, he’s doing it with style and grace at least.

(The truth is that when he was little Derek was afraid of stairs – don’t ask – so his auntie May taught him how to summersault so he wouldn’t have to touch the evil stairs and for the longest time he couldn’t get down from anywhere unless it was through a summersault.

It seems like he reverts to that when he’s slightly hungover.)

“Der, you alright?” Stiles asks worriedly, fussing over him and checking him for injuries, even though he’s a werewolf. A werewolf with an idiot boyfriend.

“I’m fine.”

Stiles sighs out, “Oh good, that means I can laugh at your eyebrows,” he says, whipping the beanie out of Derek’s head and staring mildly in horror, mildly in amusement at the mess just before collapsing over in a fit.

“Oh man, Erica’s description did not do it justice. Come on, hold still. I need to show this to Cora.”

Stiles takes off his phone and aims the camera at Derek.

“Do that and no more blowjobs for a month,” Derek threatens.

The camera flashes. Derek growls.

“Totally worth it,” Stiles cackles, messing with his phone for a couple more seconds before herding him to the car.

“Why are we dating again?”

Stiles fiddles with the radio until it’s on the 80s station and if Derek didn’t know better he’d say Stiles is trying to get him comfortable.

“Dunno, something about sharing curly fries and blowjobs and love or something.”

Derek snorts and leans back in his seat, “Something like that, I guess.”

Stiles starts the car and kicks it into gear, driving smoothly back onto the road.

Derek sighs and closes his eyes.

“Do you know what happened to my eyebrow?”

“Yeah, Erica sent me a video of you doing it.”

“Why did you leave me alone with her when I was drunk,” he accuses.

“In my defense, Boyd was with you. And Scott was there too. It was supposed to be drunk werewolfy bonding. It’s not my fault your pack is full of deviants.”

Derek snags Stiles phone from the dashboard.

“Your face is a deviant,” he mutters.

Stiles laughs at him like he usually does, but reaches over and takes his hand.

“Looks like your lack of eyebrow game affects your sass levels.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m hysterical,” Stiles counters easily, squeezing his hand and throwing one of his careless happy smiles at him.

Derek’s heart starts doing funny things. The kind of funny things that led him to actually _ask_ Stiles on a date. That actually led to them moving together. The kind of funny things that made him buy a ring that he has stashed behind his History books in their home.

He shifts his focus back to the phone, unlocking it and opening up the video.

A shaky image of Derek slumped over Erica’s table with too many empty shot glasses in front of him appears on the screen.

Derek is petting his own eyebrows, “You love your eyebrows,” Erica announces.

Drunk!Derek hums and nods along easily, “They’re so soft.”

Erica giggles, “Your game is too strong.”

“I love my eyebrows. They keep meanies away.”

“Do you love your eyebrows more than Pop Tarts?” she edges, voice urgent like this is of the utmost importance.

“Yah.”

“Do you love your eyebrows more than your leather jacket?”

Drunk!Derek frowns a little, but then nods confidently, “Yeah.”

“Do you love your eyebrows more than _Stiles_?”

Drunk!Derek gasps on camera and shakes his head vehemently, “No. No, no, no. I love Stiles like,” he frowns, “like this much,” he says throwing both his arms out as far as they can go and accidentally punches a hole in the microwave.

Erica starts laughing incontrollable and Derek looks like someone just took away all his candy.

“I’ll- I’ll prove it. Yeah! Scott! Get me a razor I’m shaving my eyebrows!”

Scott slides into the frame and almost lands on Derek’s lap.

“Why?”

“For love!”

Scott’s eyes go wide and he starts nodding, “For love!” he cries out marching back out of frame and dragging Derek with him.

The last thing it’s heard before the camera goes to black is Erica’s quiet “Ohmygod, Stiles is going to _kill me_ ,” before her loud “Boyd! Pack your bags! We’re moving to Argentina! We’ll get our tango on!”

The video stops and Derek is probably most likely blushing and most assuredly regretting all his life decisions. Just- all of them. In general.

“I thought it was cute,” Stiles tells him with a smile.

Derek sighs and leans back again.

Stiles waits until the next red stoplight to lean over and kiss him on the cheek reassuringly.

“What about my shoes?”

Stiles snorts, “Apparently you found a dead squirrel and decided to give it a Viking burial, so you used your shoe has a tiny boat. Then decided your foot looked alone so threw the other shoe somewhere into a tree. We might still find it.”

Derek nods because, _of course he did_. He’s never drinking again ever.

“I reckon these were Erica’s doing?” he wiggles his toes,

“Isaac’s actually. He sent me pictures of the progress. He said he had picked a shade to match your soul.”

Derek sighs the sigh of those who have had enough with all the bad decisions, “I’m going to disown all of them.”

Stiles snorts and takes the wrong turn to their house.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

“No, I’m not.”

“This isn’t the way home.”

“We’re not going home.”

Derek raises his eyebrows in a silent demand for information.

Stiles laughs at him.

“You need some real breakfast. We’re going to that place you like.”

“The one down on 7th?”

“Yeah.”

“But you hate that place,” Derek points out.

“But you love that place,” Stiles throws back like it’s that simple.

Derek feels his lips quirking up in a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners because look at how attentive his boyfriend is.

He squeezes Stiles’ fingers in his and smiles a little smugly, “You love me.”

“We’ve been together for three years. I thought this was old news by now.”

Derek shrugs and keeps being quietly happy and smug in his seat.

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles points out, parking the car in front of the little restaurant and sparing it a glare, just before leaning over and kissing Derek soundly on the mouth.

“I can’t walk in without shoes.”

Stiles reaches back and takes a pair of neon green flip flops, passing them to Derek.

“You’re having too much fun with this aren’t you?”

Stiles smiles, big and unapologetic, “Just because I love you, it doesn’t mean I can’t make fun of you for being a cute idiot.”

Derek would be annoyed, he really would, but he’s too distracted by Stiles’ lips on his, sudden and fond and the way Stiles is practically oozing happiness and love out of his pores.

So, he can be excused this once, he guesses.


End file.
